Opening Gambit
by AGirloftheSouth
Summary: After a case, John and Sherlock discover something that they didn't expect. Rated M. Is set before my story They're Only Echoes and has ties to that story, but both can be read alone.
1. Opening Gambit

**A/N** – I managed to steal computer time on my own laptop today, shocking in and of itself. This is what I did with my 30 minutes. Also, I will happily concede that every word in the American dialect is inferior with one exception. I lack the ability, as a Southerner, American, human, to use arse, so for the purposes of this story I used the American version ass. (Also, I've always thought cars having bonnets was a little strange, but that is irrelevant.) If that bothers you I apologize and please stop reading now. If it doesn't read on.

**Warnings** – Not a one I can think of if you got this far

**Disclaimer **– If you are under the impression that I own them you are wrong.

Opening Gambit (or Hypnotizing Chickens if you are in an Iggy Pop mood)

The chase was long, especially in the unusual April heat. The satisfaction of watching the hacker being cuffed by Lestrade made it all worth it. John knew that Sherlock found it oddly satisfying to have outsmarted this particular young man. The detective insisted at regular intervals during this case that the criminal "is very clever John, very clever indeed." John wanted to point out to the 19-year-old how honored he should be to have earned the respect of the detective; it is one of the most exclusive clubs.

That would take too much energy though, and after the long run the doctor was only concerned with catching his breath. He currently stands bent over, hands on knees, gasping. He is doing better than the detective though, whose long frame is leaning against the wall of the Oxfam store. He appears barely able to stand. John turns his head and looks up at Sherlock, faced flushed, sweat dripping down his temple, eyes closed. John feels the familiar twist in his stomach and pushes it away.

There are moments when he allows himself to enjoy the attraction he has for his flatmate, but never in the detective's presence. The feelings are subtle and enjoyable. He isn't pining away, spending countless hours wishing for something that will never be. He realizes that Sherlock isn't as asexual as he pretends to be, but the work always comes first. John can live with that, he has no expectations. He is a realist, capable of enjoying what he feels without reciprocation. If it becomes too much to handle he'll deal with it then.

He turns his focus to the alarming flush that won't leave Sherlock's cheeks. He hasn't eaten in 2 days and is probably on the verge of being dehydrated. He had no business running so hard. He notices that there is a Boots on the other side of the Oxfam.

"I'm going to go buy you a water and you are going to drink it." John says, making more of an effort to control his breathing. He needs the energy to make it into the store.

Sherlock opens his eyes and focuses on John for a moment before he nods in agreement. He's gulping down breaths much too fast and John makes the mental note to buy some kind of food too. The detective clearly needs calories. He watches as Sherlock leans his head back against the wall, eyes narrowing but not closing.

John realizes that the eyes are still on him, just not on his face. He mentally traces the gaze. He thinks perhaps the detective is checking out his ass, but corrects this. It doesn't quite line up. His lower back, maybe? Without moving John takes a quick physical inventory and realizes that, in his current position, his shirt is pushed up on his back. There is a patch of skin showing between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his jeans. Sherlock is staring at that patch of skin.

John doesn't push the twist away this time, enjoying it as he looks over Sherlock quickly. He has learned a great deal about observation living with Sherlock, but doesn't need any of it to understand the clues Sherlock is unconsciously giving off. His fingers are flexing, stretching and he quickly licks his lips. The detective wants to touch, wants to taste. The twist tightens and John enjoys it and the warmth it brings.

_Interesting turn of events_, the doctor thinks and then wonders momentarily if Sherlock is even aware. And as if to answer the unvoiced question the detective shuts it down, regains control, and closes his eyes. John almost laughs at the realization that Sherlock caught himself looking. He is also completely unaware that John noticed the crack in the ever present emotional armor.

The doctor has a quick debate, ignore or make a move, and settles on something in between. He straightens and takes two steps well into Sherlock's personal space. When the detective opens his eyes to look at John he is met with a sultry smile and cheeks that are flushed for a reason other than running. John notices the flash of surprise, before Sherlock brings it under control. The doctor doesn't move away.

He grabs Sherlock's wrist and quickly traces a thumb across the tendons. He watches with quiet amazement as the detective's pupils widen and his mouth opens. An almost silent "oh" escapes him.

"Crisps or Biscuits?" The doctor asks, his insides jumping.

The detective doesn't respond immediately, John counts that as a victory. The doctor's smile grows as he repeats his thumb's action and his question. "You have to eat something, crisps or biscuits?"

"Crisps." The reply comes as Sherlock twists his hand to run his fingers across John's palm. The doctor doesn't hide the shiver that moves up his arm. Unbelievably, the detective's pupils grow wider and his throat catches as he swallows.

"Ok." John says releasing his grip and stepping past Sherlock. The doctor doesn't bother to prevent his hand from running across Sherlock's hip as he strides past. He also doesn't miss the sharp intake of breath.

He pushes the door open and walks into the brightly lit store. He smiles to himself; he'd have been completely satisfied with the day if they'd just caught the bad guy.

*Hypnotizing Chickens is a line from Iggy Pops Lust for Life, which has been blasting on my iPod all day.


	2. Draw out the Queen

A/N – Changing the rating on this because of the upcoming chapter, not this one.

Sherlock has not moved from his position against the wall as John returns with a liter of water and crisps. He has, however, regained control of himself. He eyes John with what he knows is a blank stare and accepts the items. If this bothers the doctor, he gives no outward indication. In fact, after he gives Sherlock the usual post-case smile, he walks right past the detective and towards Lestrade.

Sherlock knows John is insisting that the statements wait until tomorrow. It is typical John behavior, typical doctor behavior. John Watson, his colleague, is never far from being Dr. John Watson, Army Surgeon.

The detective takes a long swig of water, realizing, but not admitting, that he needs it. Physically, it had been a very bad idea for him to chase after John. The doctor was more than capable of capturing the young hacker. John's superb physical fitness is deceptive and the hacker had shown no signs of being violent. John had not been in any danger. Sherlock had not been needed. The detective acknowledges, though, that he enjoys the chase. And standing here, momentarily alone, he allows himself to add _with John_.

He enjoys the chase, _with John_. This isn't a new realization; he has long accepted that he enjoys John. The doctor's companionship and physical presence are pleasant. He provides above average intellectual stimulation. And Sherlock has been known, on special occasions, to enjoy the physical attributes of his friend. Usually after a particularly brilliant deduction or an unusually difficult case, he'll allow himself to think of John, of touching John, of John touching him. These moments are rare and always private, exclusively conducted when John is soundly asleep or out of the flat.

It is easy for the detective to blame today's lapse on exhaustion or dehydration and it would be excusable if had he not been noticed. John had noticed though. Granted, the doctor's unexpected reciprocation had left the detective with a warm pleasant feeling, but the facts are simple. Sherlock does not do _that_. He thinks about it, certainly, that is normal. When the urges became too much, he relieves the situation in the normal way. But the involvement of someone else, even John, is unacceptable.

He sighs and looks over to the heated discussion going on between the inspector and the doctor. There is no doubt that the doctor will get his way. Sherlock smiles at this, John can be as stubborn as anyone when it is called for. It is a quality Sherlock admires, as long as it isn't being used to hamper him.

As he continues to watch, John removes the cap from his own bottle of water and drinks. Sherlock's eyes trail down the slightly upturned neck, watching the Adam's apple bob as he swallows. His gaze then moves past the shoulders and down the back. Sherlock has seen the bare back on many occasions and can picture it clearly now, despite the shirt. He knows the muscles are lean and faintly defined. The ridges caused by the doctor's spine and ribs are all but invisible to the eye. He always finds it a pleasant image. However, his true interest, the real cause of today's lapse, is the unusual dimple on John's lower spine.

Sherlock is aware that it currently sits less than a centimeter above the waistband of John's jeans, slightly to the right of center on his spine. The detective doesn't know if it is naturally occurring or the result of an injury. However, he is fairly certain that the tip of his index finger will fit perfectly into the small space, or perhaps the tip of his tongue…

He catches himself just as John turns back towards him. He mentally chastises himself, this is ridiculous. He takes another long drink of water, clearly he isn't hydrating fast enough.

Sherlock examines the doctor quickly to determine if he noticed, but it appears not. The detective solidifies the blank stare on his face as the doctor walks towards him. John is smiling, and it is different, but not much.

"Let's get a cab and go home. You need some food." John gestures to the can of crisps. "Start with those, please." The tone is clearly Dr. John, nothing unusual there.

Sherlock eyes John as he walks towards the street. The doctor holds up a hand and turns back to the detective. "Are you coming?"

Sherlock nods and closes the distance between them just as John climbs into the back of the cab. The detective joins him and gives the driver the address before sitting back to study John.

The doctor is looking out the window, posture revealing nothing. His face is normal, revealing nothing. No new information, surely, this has to be dealt with.

"I don't like to have sex." Sherlock states simply, addressing, what he feels, is the problem at hand. "I don't find it enjoyable." He adds, because John usually needs additional clarification.

John turns and meets his eyes, processing the words. He nods his head before responding, "Ok." He turns back towards the window.

Sherlock is confused by this. Perhaps, John had not accurately understood the post-chase encounter. Perhaps, he had not understood the detective's emotional and physical response to him. Sherlock doesn't like being misunderstood.

"I think about you." Sherlock spits out awkwardly, John turns back. The detective continues. "There is nothing unusual in that, you are obviously attractive, I just do not enjoy the physical..." he struggles for a moment before coming up with, "things."

John smiles and appears to be aware of something that the detective isn't. Perhaps this conversation isn't meeting the acceptable social standards or perhaps he as unwittingly made a pop culture reference.

"That's fine Sherlock. I was surprised by your reaction and clearly you were surprised by mine, but nothing will change unless you are willing. Certainly, you know I would never try to force you."

"Oh." Sherlock mentally berates himself for the stupid response. John nods. Obviously, the detective is aware John would never try to harm him, in any way. In fact, the thought has never even crossed Sherlock's mind. It is asinine.

However, this is not the reaction he anticipated. Sherlock expected the doctor to try and persuade him. He knows, for a fact, that the doctor enjoys sex and that the doctor likes to share. He assumed that the John would want to share with him. He quietly realizes, as the doctor looks back out the window, that he is disappointed that it is otherwise.


	3. Endgame

A/N – Ok, I lied in the previous chapter, this part isn't rated M either. I think it will be the next portion, maybe. And obviously this story, through no fault of mine, is linking itself to my other stories starting with They're Only Echoes. They completely stand alone, but will eventually compliment each other….

John runs the towel through his hair as he steps out of the bathroom. He is glad to be clean and no longer smelling like heat, sweat, and hacker. He notices that the muscles in his legs are tight; he is going to be sore tomorrow. The chase had been productive for a lot of reasons.

He tosses the towel in the basket as heads down the stairs. He'd made Sherlock shower first, partly so that the odd looks would stop, but mostly because the detective was still suffering the effects of the heat. He'd quickly thrown together some spaghetti for Sherlock and had it ready when the detective emerged from the bathroom.

"Eat while I shower." John had put it simply enough, now he just has to see if his instructions have been followed.

He steps into the living room and is immediately greeted with an empty bowl sitting on the coffee table. He smiles, at least that is done. He grabs the bowl and heads to the kitchen not surprised to see that Sherlock managed to get the fork into the sink, but not the bowl. He shrugs and quickly washes the dishes.

He can hear Sherlock noises coming from the detective's bedroom. He decides to ignore them and instead figure out what he's going to make himself for dinner. He's not particularly hungry, but can't continue to criticize the detective's eating habits if he develops bad ones of his own. He settles on leftover Thai and puts it in the microwave.

He goes back into the living room to turn on the telly just as Sherlock re-enters carrying his own laptop for once. John tries to smile but is greeted with the furrowed brow of confusion, again. He prevents his eyes from rolling as he starts searching through the channels. Sherlock settles in his chair, the mixture of damp and dry curls bouncing as he get's comfortable. John deliberately doesn't look at him.

The doctor knows exactly why the detective is confused, but Sherlock doesn't like to have these things pointed out to him. Conclusions aren't valid unless he comes up with them himself. John is in no hurry. He knows eventually that Sherlock will realize that his words and his actions are not in sync.

John stops on the news and moves to get his dinner. He feels Sherlock's eyes on him the whole time but does nothing to acknowledge them. And when he finally turns they are suddenly focused on the computer screen. They aren't moving back and forth though, so clearly he isn't actually reading. John smiles to himself as he sits in his own chair and starts to eat.

Naturally, he is curious about Sherlock's declaration that he doesn't like sex. Had the doctor heard that anytime previous to this afternoon he would have believed it without question. And he has no doubt that the detective believes it, or rather believed it. Sherlock is excellent at convincing himself of certain things. John is very curious as to what led to the original conclusion, was it a bad experience, bad partner, bad sex. John is fairly certain, that given the chance, he can overcome any of those. Sex is something he knows he's pretty good at.

John is also aware that there are people who just don't like it, for any variety of reasons. He's encountered them as a doctor and as a man trying to get laid. However, people who don't like to have sex do not react the way that Sherlock did this afternoon. Sherlock can scream from mountain tops that he doesn't like "physical things", but his body has a different idea.

John will wait him out. The doctor was deliberate in his reaction to Sherlock in the cab because it provides the detective with a puzzle. _John is interested, so why isn't he acting?_ John can only imagine the variety of thoughts running through the detective's head this very second. The puzzle pieces are not fitting together and Sherlock is trying to force them.

Sherlock sighs and John looks at him. The detective is frowning, eyes still on the computer screen, but clearly the thoughts are turned inwards.

"Anything I can help with?" The doctor probes innocently.

Sherlock snaps his eyes around to glare at John. The detective is clearly looking for some hint of anything out of the ordinary and is unable to find it. He must be certain that John is deliberately hiding emotional responses, deliberately making this harder. John just raises an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Hardly." The detective huffs after a moment and turns his attention back to not actually looking at his computer screen. John smiles to himself as he eats the last few bites of dinner. Only with Sherlock would courtship be a chess match.

The doctor stands and heads into the kitchen to clean up his own dinner dish. Once, again he knows he is being watched. He continues to ignore it as he puts away the dishes and the collection of pots that are out from earlier. As he squats to put the frying pan away hears a cough come from the living room. The doctor glances over his shoulder but nothing has changed.

John stands and feels the tightness in his legs again. He shakes them as he takes the few steps into the living room. Then, he grabs the arm of his chair and squats, looking at a news story about troops in Afghanistan.

John focuses on it easily, racking his brain trying to remember if he knew the man killed today. He's only vaguely aware of his body's movements as he stretches his legs. Sore legs are a frequent occurrence living with Sherlock. He comes out of the squat partially and sinks back down, tensing and releasing the muscles. He is not aware, at all, that the waistband of his pyjama bottoms is rising and lowering over the small of his back as he moves.

In fact, he would never have given it a thought, even with the events of the day fresh in his mind, if it wasn't for the long pointy index finger that suddenly jabs against his spine. The doctor stops moving in the same instance that a moan comes out of the detective. John's mind goes blank for a moment as the small unexpected point of contact overruns his nervous system. Then the whispered voice close to his ear quickly draws his attention back to the moment.

"John, you absolutely must explain this little dimple."


	4. Check

A/N – Yeppers, no M material here either, oh so close though. There is a dirty word, maybe two, and lots of references to sex, some pleasant, some not so much.

Sherlock is confused, has been since the cab ride. The new feelings and ideas are just combining together with the dozens that were already floating around his head. It is a mess. He's unable to focus or organize. He is unable to see the solution.

_He doesn't do this. He wants to do this. He is relieved John understands. He is disappointed that John won't try to persuade. Why is he disappointed? He doesn't like to touch. He wants nothing more than to touch. He wants to taste. God, does he want to taste. Sex hurts. John would never, ever hurt him. Sex is humiliating. John would never, ever laugh at him. Sex hurts. Well, John will laugh at him but never maliciously. Pain. He doesn't want things to change. They already have. He's afraid_…

The last one gives him pause, what exactly is he afraid of. John is affectionate and giving. If Sherlock is truly unhappy, John will not push him, he'd said so himself. He is fairly certain that Sherlock, being Sherlock will never drive John away. The fear is pointless. He sighs and pushes it away; it doesn't go far.

"Anything I can help with?" The doctor's voice draws him back to the room and Sherlock snaps his eyes to glare at him. His initial reaction is to say yes. _Make the urges go away. I want you to fuck me Dr. Watson, or at least try. Show me why you like it and do it with no pain, at all, ever._

Instead, he searches the doctor's face, trying to determine the intentions, read the emotions. Any other time he can do this without thinking about it. Today, the doctor is behind a fog. Aware of something Sherlock is not and unwilling to share. The doctor's quickly cocked eyebrow confirms this.

"Hardly," Sherlock finally huffs out, a typical response. The response he should give. He looks away, noticing, for the first time, that the screen on his laptop is on football scores. How pedestrian. He doesn't change it.

A moment later John stands and walks into the kitchen. Sherlock watches every movement, every flex of muscle as he cleans his dishes then dries them. Sherlock thinks of the dimple again, for just a moment, and then mentally slaps himself. These thoughts are intolerable, ridiculous. Nothing is going to happen, he doesn't do this. HE. DOES. NOT. DO. THIS. He brands the words into his brain, on the vital frontal lobe, where he'll remember them.

He closes his eyes and when he opens them he will look at John and feel nothing. This will be over and filed away, never to be repeated.

He opens his eyes and looks into the kitchen; John is squatting in front of the cabinet putting a pan away. The dimple is visible, along with the curves defining the top of each buttock. The gasp is almost out of his mouth before he manages to turn it into a cough. His insides knot and his chest tightens. Clearly this isn't what he intended. _Stupid Idiot_, he chastises himself.

He sees John walking back into the room, shaking his legs as if the muscles are tight. The running today would explain that. John often pushes himself too hard. Sherlock knows he secretly enjoys it, enjoys the feel of overworked muscles. The detective doesn't understand this. He doesn't like pain.

_Sex hurts_.

The words flash in his mind like fireworks. He might be willing to acknowledge that the reaction is not completely logical. If sex was that painful, excluding the case of sado-masochists, the population of the world would have died out long ago. It must be enjoyable, the human race is thriving. Although, the sex he is interested in will do nothing to help propagate the species, the fundamental principles can't be that different. Sex must be enjoyable, despite what his previous experience dictates.

_John will never, ever hurt him._

John begins the squats in the space between the chairs. His hand resting on the arm as his face focuses on the TV. Sherlock, glances at the story, realizes it's about Afghanistan and tunes it out. He's not interested in thinking about what might have happened to John there. He's seen the damage caused by a minor injury, mental and physical. That is sufficient information for him.

He watches John, the slight up and down movement as he pushes his muscles. The curves of his buttocks are visible again, tantalizing. So is the dimple, exactly as Sherlock always pictures it, the dimensions seared into his brain. He absolutely knows that his finger will fit perfectly in the little hollow. His mouth waters with his desire to taste it, fit his tongue into it. He wants it more than he wants to breathe.

_Sex hurts_.

The words fizzle this time. Sex _had_ hurt. He clarifies instantly. _Had_…had hurt. One test does not prove a hypothesis, any scientist can testify to that. Any doctor.

_John would never, ever hurt him._ Is it really as simple as that? Can he trust?

He takes a deep breath, holds it, and jumps.

He sets the laptop aside, indifferent to where it ends up. Thankfully, there is a table next to his chair. His other hand is reaching out, all the fingers curling in but one. His index finger quivers, as it get's closer. He can feel the charge up his arm before he makes contact. He's never wanted to touch so much.

His finger fits perfectly. The skin is warm and soft. The bone is hard underneath, protecting that terribly vital cord. John stills instantly, Sherlock smiles. He feels smug, he did that to John.

"John, you absolutely must explain this little dimple." Sherlock is leaning close to John as the words come out. His breath bounces off the doctor and back at him, bringing the smell of John with it.

The doctor's breath catches just as Sherlock's knees hit the floor. His finger traces the dimple's edges working a spiral inward.

John turns his head until he is facing the detective. It is the doctor's turn to search and verify. Sherlock knows his gaze doesn't waiver, it can't waiver. He wants this. He wants this so much. John must find what he needs.

"I was born with it." The doctor answers the question. "A birth mark, a defect."

Sherlock shakes his head and he maneuvers himself lower. He settles on his butt legs stretched out before him. He puts his weight on his elbow and leans in. "I have never seen anything less defective in my life." He darts his tongue into the dimple. The doctor collapses forward, onto his knees


	5. Mate

A/N – Yeah, I got nothing.

_Well_, John thinks, _this is unexpected_.

His knees hit the floor hard, and he feels Sherlock's hand settle on his hip. The doctor feels the air escape his lungs and then his chest seizes as the tongue flattens on his back.

"Jesus Sherlock," escapes him, and the fingers tighten. The doctor realizes, as the pleasure shoots to his groin, that he has to stop this. This is not going to happen like this. "Let go." He gets out, voice sounding huskier than usual.

Sherlock's fingers loosen immediately and the doctor takes the moment to pull away. He turns and settles on the floor looking at Sherlock. The detective's cheeks are flushed again, but it is clearly from arousal. John can see that the breathing is irregular and fast, the heart beat pounding in his neck. They hadn't even touched for 15 seconds and the detective's feelings are pulsating in the room. John swallows hard and takes a deep breath. He knows he has to control himself.

"You don't do this." He says simply, repeating the detective's own words. "What changed?"

Sherlock frowns at this, looking the doctor up and down, as he sits up straighter.

"You," Sherlock replies. "You made me want to try again."

John nods, accepting this. "I'm not an experiment, Sherlock." There is no harshness in the doctor's words, but this is his only condition. He will be understood. "If you have any doubts at all, AT ALL, then we need to discuss them." Sherlock pushes back shaking his head, John can see a flash of uncertainty and a hint of fear.

John reaches out and places a hand on the detective's knee. His intention certainly isn't to scare Sherlock away. Sherlock's eyes shoot quickly to the new point of contact before returning to John's. John continues. "I have no expectations, Sherlock. None. But I am more than willing to do this. In fact, I really want to." The doctor offers a smile. "I think about you, too." He squeezes the knee and Sherlock relaxes, a small smile appearing on the usually stoic features. John allows himself to feel hopeful.

"I…" Sherlock starts and stops. The doctor gives the knee another squeeze. John keeps his gaze steady, earning the trust. He can point out the exact moment Sherlock decides to speak. "I don't want it to hurt John. The first time it hurt, I didn't like it."

John's tempted to point out that the first time hurts for everyone, wanting Sherlock to know that he isn't alone in that. He stops himself. There is darkness in the detective's eyes that indicate platitudes are not welcome. John nods instead.

"I can promise you that I have absolutely no intention of causing you any sort of pain. If you decide you want to do this, and I do something you don't like, tell me. I will do the same." He moves his hand from the knee and reaches it up to cup the detective's jaw. John watches in amazement as the detective's pupils dilate. It is almost as if the grey has disappeared. The detective leans into the touch. The involuntary gesture sends warm waves through John's body. Oh yeah, he's feeling very, very hopeful. "All I ask is that you be honest with me."

Sherlock closes his eyes and rubs his cheek against John's palm. He is thinking. Even in this Sherlock is Sherlock. John smiles to himself, he wouldn't have it any other way.

The eyes open again and look at John. The detective's voice is throaty as he asks. "What if I don't like it?" John almost laughs at that. The detective is pretty close to purring and they've barely touched. But the question is a legitimate one.

"Then we stop, at any point, during any part. You want to stop, we stop. If I want to stop, we stop. No conditions, no questions, no regrets."

Sherlock's examines John for a long moment before giving a slight nod. Then the detective turns his face and places a kiss into John's palm, darting his tongue out trace the crease. John's throat tightens. He'll take that as a tentative yes.

John leans forward and meets Sherlock's eyes for just a fraction of a second before placing his lips against the detectives.


	6. Laying Down the King

A/N – This is earning the M rating, finally. I'm going to bed before 3 am for the first time in weeks, finally. I want to thank everybody for the kind words on this story, you've been awesome, all of you! I hope I've wrapped it up to your satisfaction. Thanks again! :o)

Somewhere in the mix of pain and humiliation, Sherlock had deleted the fact that he liked kissing.

He really likes kissing.

John's lips are warm and soft. The pressure the doctor uses is solid, but gentle. Sherlock thinks his insides might be turning to liquid as John traces a tongue across his lower lip. He becomes positive of this when John sucks the lower lip into his mouth and pulls gently. Sherlock notes that no teeth are used, no pain. This is different than his previous experience. He might like teeth there, not hard, but just to pull a little. He starts a list in his mind, 'To Try', and that becomes the first item.

John pulls back, but not far. Sherlock likes the feeling of their breath mingling between them, breathing in what John has breathed out. The doctor's eyes are sparkling, his face flushed, and his breathing uneven. Sherlock watches him, waiting. Then suddenly realizes that the doctor is waiting for him. Sherlock is again being asked if it is ok to continue. What a stupid question?

Sherlock leans forward intent on kissing again, but the doctor pulls back.

"Let's not do anything on the living room floor. God only knows what kind of things are growing all over it." Sherlock starts to protest, the living room floor is fine. He's positive that John has cleaned it within the last week. That is more than acceptable.

John is standing up though, and as he straightens he reaches a hand down to Sherlock. The doctor's eyes meet the detective's as he says, "Let's go to bed, Sherlock."

Sherlock comes to the immediate conclusion that John Watson is bloody brilliant. He takes the hand and allows himself to be pulled up. He momentarily realizes that he towers over the smaller doctor and wonders about logistics. John doesn't seem to be concerned, so he pushes the thought away. It's probably stupid, but his brain is turning to mush. Stupid questions are acceptable.

He notices the pink flush that has spread across the doctor's features and feels satisfied that they are because of him. He caused that. He smiles to himself. But the thought fades quickly as John interlocks their fingers and pulls, encouraging the detective to follow.

"Oh." Sherlock lets slip as he takes the first step, surprised he can move. John turns instantly to examine. Sherlock realizes that the doctor must think something is wrong. Nothing could be further from the truth. Sherlock squeezes the fingers surrounding his and takes a step into John's space, encouraging him to keep moving. John takes the hint and pulls the detective up the stairs behind him.

As they enter the room, Sherlock takes a moment to look around. He's seen John's room before, many times, but it isn't a regular occurrence. He does a quick inventory to asses what has changed from his last visit. A few things have been moved around but nothing significant. It is neat and clean, like usual.

John closes the door behind them, and then moves to stand in front of Sherlock. The detective feels like little electrical charges are touching his skin and he's fascinated by the sensation. He's never felt anything like it before and wonders if John is aware of it, or perhaps experiencing it himself. He is about to ask when he notices the doctor's hand moving.

He realizes that the hand is coming back to his face. That means kissing again. That is much more interesting than any questions. Sherlock leans to meet the doctor halfway. John presses his tongue against Sherlock's lips and the detective opens willingly. When their tongues touch Sherlock's knees almost buckle. John's quick arm around his waist is probably the only thing that prevents it. Sherlock grabs the doctor's shoulders to stabilize and wonders, with some amazement, how the doctor is able to be so alert.

John's kiss is exploratory and slow, tracing lines and teeth with his tongue. Sherlock finds the taste of the doctor wonderful, sweet, and addictive. It is impossible to get your fill on this taste. He will always want more. Sherlock never wants this to end.

Finally, John's tongue pulls back. The immediate disappointment is derailed when Sherlock realizes that it is his turn. He brings both hands up to hold the doctor's head still and begins his own exploration. He realizes immediately that he is moving at a faster pace, but the doctor offers no protest. This is good because he has every intention of tasting it all, right now.

Sherlock moans and embraces the idea of the noise getting lost in John. It could bounce around inside the doctor forever. Sherlock is suddenly certain that his IQ is dropping exponential, that idea was just silly. But as the doctor releases his own moan and it settles in Sherlock's belly, the detective is equally certain that he doesn't care. This is worth being stupid.

John's hand on his face suddenly has more pressure, not a lot, but a noticeable difference. And the doctor pulls back. Sherlock doesn't like that and groans in protest, but opens his eyes. He is taken aback by John's appearance. The lips are swollen, cheeks red, eye lids heavy. The detective's pale hands stand in contrast to the doctor's darker coloring, but not in an unpleasant way. Sherlock feels like his heart explodes, and he gulps in air to compensate. He knows, suddenly, that he wants to look at this face forever.

John grabs three gulping breaths before moving in again. Sherlock hopes it is more kissing; he remembers the steps, kissing then sex. There has been a lot of kissing so far, but he wants more. And sex still has a twinge of uncertainty surrounding it. He'd like to delay that a little while longer. Although, it appears John is doing something else. Encouraged by the slight pressure of the doctor's hand Sherlock turns his head. John's lips meet his jaw bone just under his ear.

Sherlock gasps, his body pressing into John. The doctor's grip around his waist tightens and Sherlock grabs blindly for support. He feels the doctor's lips brush his ear. "Ok?" All Sherlock can do is nod. Based on the change in sensations, he is certain that all of the blood has left his brain. He becomes aware of his erection pressing into John's hip, and more importantly John's pressing into his thigh. He did that, it's because of him.

John starts on his jaw again and Sherlock squeezes his eyes tight. The mouth traces around to his chin, alternating lips and tongue. Then John moves down the neck, drawing out another moan with lips on Sherlock's pulse point. John hums in reply and it vibrates against Sherlock's neck. This is very nice, but he might like teeth here too, just a little. He adds it quickly to the 'Too Try' list.

When the lips stop at the spot where neck meets collar bone, Sherlock's mind goes blank and he collapses. He puffs out a louder than expected, "Oh god," just as his knees buckle. The ever conscientious John pulls back suddenly, managing to grab the detective's upper arms and brace to support the weight. Sherlock's brain clicks back on and he's absolutely amazed to not be on the floor. He finds his legs and drops his head forward to bury his nose in John's hair.

It is most definitely his turn.

The detective places kisses into the doctor's hair, and across his ears. "You feel so good John. I have to taste now." The doctor seems to understand and settles his hands on Sherlock's hips. Sherlock grins as he places his first kiss just below John's ear.

There is no need for him to move anywhere else. John likes, really likes, to be kissed right there. As Sherlock hits the spot with his tongue, John groans and it reverberates through Sherlock's chest. "Shit, right there." He puffs out between breaths and his fingers sink into the detective's hips. Sherlock's desire to taste everything tapers off. The noises coming out of the doctor are too fascinating to allow him to stop. Instead, he focuses all his attention on that spot, kissing, licking, and sucking. In a matter of moments, Sherlock is the one supporting the majority of John's weight. The detective welcomes the sensation.

After several minutes, John pushes against the detective's hips gently putting space between them. They stare at each other. Sherlock admires the wrecked look on the doctor, and feels just a hint of smugness. He wonders if the doctor does too. If not, he should. Sherlock determines to ask him later.

"I'm going to get these clothes off of you?" John says. Sherlock thinks that is a very good idea, he'll help. It's only as he pushes his dressing gown off that he realizes John said it to keep him informed. John is making sure he knows the steps. In this moment it is a wonderful, but entirely unnecessary gesture. Sherlock grabs his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. John moves forward to touch but Sherlock stops him.

"My turn to go first." He grabs the bottom of John's shirt. "Off." John smiles at him before lifting his arms above his head. Sherlock pulls the t-shirt up and off.

Sherlock has seen John's chest before. He remembers it well, but still takes a moment to admire. Just as on his back the muscles are lean, but here they are more clearly defined. There is a small spattering of hair right in the middle of two nipples, which are each only slightly darker in color than his natural skin tone. The scar on the left shoulder is slightly lighter than the natural skin tone. It shows the perfect circle of the entry wound and the places where cuts were needed to extract the bullet. There is no exit wound on the other side.

Sherlock feels that he has an odd relationship with the wound. He hates it because it hurt John, both physically and mentally. John should never have known pain like that. At the same time, he is entirely aware that this wound might have singlehandedly brought John to him. He is more than thankful for that.

He leans forward and brushes his lips against it, tasting the unusually smooth skin. It is different, not unpleasant, but not the appeal of the little dimple either. John doesn't flinch or appear ashamed as the detective examines, which Sherlock likes. Sherlock wants the chance to come to terms with the wound. John seems willing to accept that.

The detective pulls back again and notices the trail of hair underneath John's navel. His eyes trace it downward until the line disappears under pyjama bottoms. The sight excites him. He can feel his pulse in his groin now, his own pyjama bottoms confining him. He doesn't care.

His overwhelming urge to taste has returned. Sherlock bends his head and picks a nipple. The doctor's fingers knotting immediately into the detective's hair, but not tightly. No pain. He adds 'pulling slightly on hair' to the mental 'To Try' list. He's fairly certain that he'll like that as well.

Sherlock places a hand on either of John's hips and the doctor pushes his chest forward. The doctor wants more. Sherlock smiles and flicks against the nub with his tongue. "God Sherlock." The words grunt out of John's mouth and shoot directly to the detective's groin. Sherlock thrust awkwardly into the air between them and moans around John's hardening nipple.

John let's a chuckle out at this and settles a hand on Sherlock's back. _Laughing at him but not maliciously_, Sherlock notes. He includes, _with amusement and happiness_. Sherlock moves to the other nipple, unable to contain his own smile.

The doctor's hands make big circles across the expanse of the detectives back. Sherlock has trouble focusing on his own actions when fingers brush down his spine or across the nape of his neck. When one hand suddenly moves lower and grabs a fist full of ass, Sherlock almost bites down. It's only the groan, which forced his mouth open, that prevents it.

John takes the opportunity to push and straighten Sherlock up. The doctor then latches on to one of the detective's nipples. Surprised, Sherlock thrust forward, this time bumping his erection into John's. He whimpers at the contact and thrusts again, desperate for more.

"Almost." John mumbles against his chest as he moves across to the other nipple. Sherlock wraps his arms around John, holding him in place. He feels John's muscles twitch against his fingers as he works his way down the doctor's spine. When he reaches the dimple he presses his index finger inside. Clearly, his index finger belongs there. The detective trails his other hand down and cups the doctor's ass, noting that it, too, is a perfect fit.

The doctor's long drawn out, "mmmmmm," vibrates against the detective's ribs. He squeezes tighter.

The doctor settles a hand on each buttock and pulls Sherlock hard against him. The erections brush each other again and Sherlock releases another whimper. The detective believes that this might be his favorite sensation ever. He pushes his hips deliberately so he comes in contact with the doctor again. It's John's turn to moan.

"I can't wait to see you." The doctor pushes the words into Sherlock's chest as he changes nipples again. Sherlock leaves the dimple and is about to grab John's hair, when the doctor squeezes the detectives ass again. This time digging his fingers in and pulling the cheeks apart.

For a fraction of a second Sherlock really enjoys the feeling. The gentle pull is far from painful and the stretching of skin is very stimulating. But in a flash the pleasure is gone. Sherlock's body seizes at the memory of pain. His buttocks clasp together and his legs become rigid. He mentally and physically cringes part in terror part in embarrassment. A sound of panic escapes his lips and he clamps his eyes shut.

It last just a moment, less than a breath. He gains control and pushes the panic away, forcing his body to relax. He opens his eyes wanting desperately to look at John and realizes that John is no longer in physical contact with him.

The doctor is standing a step back, hands held up in a pacifying gesture. His face is alert and concerned. And he has, what has to be, a painful erection tenting his pyjamas. Sherlock is annoyed with what he considers his own overreaction and instantly turns that irritation towards John. There is no need for both of them to panic.

"Sherlock?" The doctor's voice soothes the irritation instantly. The passion that Sherlock had heard a few minutes ago is gone, replaced by genuine worry and caution. Sherlock knows, that in this instant, he is the doctor's only concern.

John will never, ever hurt him.

"John, I'm fine." Sherlock says, closing the distance between them. John's eyes begin a frantic inventory, eyeing the detective with suspicion the whole time. The detective settles a hand on either of the doctor's hips and lets him search. "I promise," he adds in after a moment. The doctor gives one more stare before bringing his arms down. John settles his hands on top of Sherlock wrist and rubs his thumbs over the sensitive undersides. Sherlock knows that John will never do that again unless invited.

With a silent realization, Sherlock sees the last puzzle piece fall into place. Suddenly the past, the good and the bad, seems incredibly far away. There is a doctor standing between him and those memories. He adds a forth thing to the 'To Try' list, willing to extend John an invitation very soon. He feels a smile cross his face.

He pulls his right wrist from John's hand and traces his fingers over John's hip bone. A flutter in the doctor's eyes reveals that he likes that, Sherlock's smile grows. The detective presses his palm against John's erection, not grabbing, but pushing it firmly against the doctor's body. John's eyes close and his back arches, pushing back against Sherlock's hand. The grip on Sherlock's other wrists tightens and the detective recognizes it as a stabilizing gesture. John is feeling unstable on his feet. He did that.

Sherlock leans in and presses his lips against John's ear. "Why don't you get on the bed, Doctor? I think it was my turn." It is John's turn to whimper as Sherlock pulls his hand away and puts gentle pressure on the doctor's shoulder. John moves as instructed.

Sherlock watches closely as John settles on top of the blanket. The concern has left the doctor's eyes and arousal has replaced it. Sherlock feels content and happy, and he's ready to touch and taste some more. He climbs on top of the doctor, straddling the small hips. He leans forward intent on kissing again.

_This_, he thinks, _he most definitely does this._


End file.
